The desert night stretched wide and wild around Lila Navarro, its cold fingers tugging at the brim of her ranger hat as she crouched low in the scrub off I-15. The auroras overhead painted the sand in streaks of red and violet, a restless glow that turned the familiar landscape into something jagged and strange. Her bow rested across her knees, its wooden curve smooth under her calloused palms, the string taut and humming faintly with the tension she’d strung into it herself. The air smelled of dust and sage, sharp against the back of her throat, laced with a faint metallic tang that didn’t belong—a sour note carried on the wind from the highway a hundred yards east. Her braid swung heavy against her back, the messy strands catching on her jacket as she shifted, her lean frame coiled tight, every muscle poised like a spring waiting to snap.

  She’d been out here since dusk, patrolling the edge of the park when the sky ignited—those damn lights bursting across the horizon like a warning she couldn’t read. Her truck had died minutes later, engine cutting out with a pitiful cough, leaving her stranded under a canopy of color that didn’t fit Nevada’s dry bones. She’d tried the radio—nothing but static—then her phone, its screen black and useless despite a full charge an hour ago. The outpost, a wooden shack she’d called home for three years, stood dark a mile back, its solar panels likely fried along with everything else. Lila didn’t waste time mourning it—she’d grown up off-grid, raised on trails and campfires, and she knew how to move when the world went quiet. So she’d grabbed her bow, her quiver, and started walking, tracking the shimmer she’d seen creeping south from the mountain.

  That shimmer—gray and glinting, like liquid metal spilled across the sand—had hit her outpost first. She’d watched from a ridge as it washed over the steel water tank, the metal buckling and melting into a puddle that hissed against the dirt. Her truck went next, tires sagging, frame softening until it was a shapeless heap. It didn’t touch the wooden walls, didn’t care about the sagebrush or her leather boots when she’d edged too close, but it ate anything modern it could find—steel, rubber, glass. She’d seen it move with purpose, a tide that knew what it wanted, and it sent a shiver down her spine she couldn’t shake, even now, hours later, crouched in the dark with her bow in hand.

  Her breath puffed out in faint clouds, the cold biting at her nose, her ears, though her hands stayed steady—years of hunting, tracking, living out here had burned that into her. She was twenty-eight, lean and sun-browned from a life under the sky, and she didn’t scare easy—not from storms, not from coyotes, not even from the drunks who’d stumble into her park looking for trouble. But this—this was different. The auroras, the tech dying, that gray stuff—it pressed against her instincts, a puzzle she couldn’t piece together with a bow or a knife. Her mind kept circling back to her dad’s old stories, tales of spirits and chaos from a world before roads, but she shoved them down. Stories wouldn’t help her now.

  Movement caught her eye—two figures trudging north along the highway, silhouettes sharp against the auroras’ glow. She squinted, shifting lower, her boots digging into the sand. One was big—broad shoulders, a bar of some kind swinging in his hand. The other was smaller, jittery, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his steps uneven like he was half-running to keep up. Survivors, maybe, from the wrecks she’d seen dotting the road—cars slumped and softened by that shimmer, their drivers fled or worse. Lila’s fingers tightened on her bow, an arrow half-nocked, the fletching brushing her thumb. She didn’t trust strangers—not out here, not tonight—but she didn’t shoot first either. Not unless they gave her a reason.

  The big one stopped, head tilting like he’d heard something, and Lila held her breath, the wind tugging at her hat. He turned, scanning the dark, and she caught his face—weathered, stubbled, eyes narrowed under a brow creased with something between grit and exhaustion. The smaller one—flannel shirt, wild gestures—kept talking, voice carrying faint on the breeze, words like “aliens” and “end times” that made her lips twitch despite herself. She’d heard plenty of that growing up—folks spinning tales when the world got messy—but this felt too real for campfire chatter.

  Then a third figure stumbled into view, small and skinny, coming from a wrecked SUV a dozen yards up the road. The big guy moved fast—long strides, boots crunching—and Lila tensed, arrow nocking fully now, her arm steady as she tracked him. He pried the SUV’s door open with that bar, metal screeching, and helped the kid out—a boy, shaggy-haired, clutching himself like he’d fall apart if he let go. The flannel guy hovered, nervous, while the big one spoke—low, gruff, words she couldn’t catch but steady enough to calm the kid’s shaking.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Lila exhaled slow, easing the arrow back, though she kept it ready. She’d seen enough wrecks tonight—vehicles melted into husks, drivers running blind into the desert—that she figured they were just more lost souls caught in whatever this was. Still, her gut churned, instincts honed from years alone telling her to stay sharp, stay hidden.

  The kid—Eli, she heard the big guy call him—flinched suddenly, hand clapping to his head, and Lila’s brow furrowed, her hat tipping slightly as she leaned forward. The big guy—Jason, from the flannel’s shout—stiffened too, his own hand twitching like he’d felt it. “Same damn thing happened to me,” Jason said, voice rough but clear, carrying across the sand. “Back there, when that gray stuff brushed me.”

  Lila’s breath hitched, a cold prickle running down her spine. She’d felt something too—earlier, when she’d edged too close to the shimmer at the outpost. A sting, sharp and quick, then words in her head: Eon Grid Conduit Initialized. Level 1: Agility 9 to 10, Endurance 8 to 9. Her legs had twitched, steadier, her fingers nimbler when she’d nocked an arrow after. She’d shoved it down, chalked it up to exhaustion or shock, but hearing them say it—same words, same jolt—made it real, too real.

  “What? You’re both seein’ things? Like—like a game?” Tim asked, voice cracking, flailing his arms like he could swat the idea away.

  “Felt it,” Jason said, low and hard, his crowbar shifting in his grip. “Stronger. Tougher. Ain’t just in my head.”

  “I—I feel it.” Eli added, voice small but sharp, like he was testing it. “Faster, maybe. Like I could dodge better.”

  Lila’s heart thudded, loud against her ribs, her bow creaking as her grip tightened. She didn’t know what this Grid was—didn’t like how it sounded, all cold and mechanical—but she felt it too, that shift in her bones, her breath. She’d always been quick, years of tracking and hunting burning agility into her, but this was more—a hum under her skin, a promise she hadn’t asked for. Her mind spun—government tech, maybe, gone haywire with the flare? Something older, wilder? She didn’t have answers, didn’t need them yet—just the bow, the night, and the three figures standing too close to her hiding spot.

  Jason turned, his eyes sweeping the scrub, and Lila ducked lower, sand gritting against her knees. He didn’t see her—not yet—but his gaze lingered, sharp and steady, like he felt her watching. She held still, breath shallow, the auroras’ light glinting off her arrowhead. Tim was pacing now, muttering about superheroes, while Eli stood close to Jason, small and fragile but tethered to the big guy’s calm.

  “Let’s go,” Jason said finally, nodding north, his voice a low anchor in the chaos. “Stick close—don’t know what’s next.”

  They started moving, boots crunching a steady rhythm, and Lila watched, her pulse slowing as they passed her by. She could stay hidden—let them go, keep to herself—but something pulled at her, a tug she couldn’t name. She’d survived alone plenty, thrived on it, but this night wasn’t like any other. That shimmer was spreading, the auroras burning, and whatever had sparked in her head tied her to them, whether she liked it or not.

  She stood, slow and quiet, brushing sand from her jeans, and stepped out from the scrub, bow slung over her shoulder, arrow still in hand. The wind caught her hat, tugging it back, and she adjusted it with a quick flick, her braid swinging free. “Hey,” she called, voice clear and firm, cutting through the dark.

  They spun—Jason first, crowbar half-raised, his stance solid like a wall. Tim yelped, stumbling back, while Eli froze, eyes wide. Lila stopped ten yards off, hands visible, arrow pointed down but ready. “Saw you from back there,” she said, nodding at the wreck. “You’re not the only ones that gray stuff hit.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed, sizing her up—hat, bow, the way she stood like the desert was hers. “You a ranger?” he asked, voice gruff but steady, the crowbar dipping an inch.

  “Yeah,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Lila Navarro. Park service. Truck’s gone, outpost too—same as your rig, I’m guessin’.”

  He nodded slow, a flicker of something—trust, maybe—crossing his face. “Jason Miller. That’s Tim, Eli. Lost mine back a ways.”

  “Figured,” she said, her lips twitching faintly. “Saw that thing in your head too? ‘Eon Grid’ whatever?”

  Jason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You?”

  “Same,” she said, shifting her weight, the bow creaking in her grip. “Made me faster. Don’t know what it is, but it’s real.”

  “Hell,” Tim muttered, scrubbing his face. “All of you? I’m the odd man out here?”

  “Looks like,” Lila said, a dry edge to her voice, her eyes flicking to the shimmer glinting off the SUV. “Stick with us, though—you’re jumpy enough without it.”

  Jason snorted—a rough, quiet sound—and lowered the crowbar fully. “You comin’ with?” he asked, straight and simple.

  Lila hesitated, the wind tugging at her hat, her instincts warring—alone was safe, but this wasn’t a night for safe. “Yeah,” she said finally, stepping closer. “North, right?”